


The Bronze Flower

by Aerunedite



Series: The Bronze Flower [1]
Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Adventure, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerunedite/pseuds/Aerunedite
Summary: The beginnings of the tale of Ifiari Phazeeni and his reminiscing about home and himself. A place he remembers from his childhood but has not seen since, but that does not mean its mark has not been burned into him.
Series: The Bronze Flower [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051793





	The Bronze Flower

Ifiari Phazeeni stood tall, taller than any of his peers. Like in the brothels he worked, he always wore clothing to accentuate his lean and finely muscled figure. His black shoulder-length hair shone like wet onyx stones against the moon as he stood on the piers. Dressed in fine silks and leathers, the wind proudly showcased his dark bronze skin featuring small scars from many a fencing duel. His shirt laid open at the chest, proudly showcasing his hairless body as if he admired its presentation the most. Form fitting pants ensured anyone’s eyes took in his luscious curves, including from his own glance in a mirror. Pride in one’s body is utmost, after all.

Ifiari’s prided himself on his striking eyes, changing colours with his moods like the four elements bound within them. The flame-like flicker as he laid in bed with a new client or the flash of static on the skin when a live blade is pulled. Tonight, they were a cool, icy blue, to match the wind-swept cold waves before him. It was the opposite of home yet still familiar.

Everywhere he travelled, a small silver and gold necklace from his homeland far away hung from his neck, its weight resisting the wind from the sea. To Ifiari, the necklace’s full meaning was lost to him, but it was one of the last connections to the land that birthed him. His wish to return a calling out of the duality of blood within him like the intertwining of silver and gold. The pendant’s silver chain held a golden tiger upon it, the meaning he has never divulged to anyone. Secretly, he knew it as the Goddess of his mother, holding the necklace close to his heart as she had done for him against her soul. It was significant to her and that is what mattered most. His missed her soft embrace, her gentle words, firey stories, and subtly scented perfumes.

The subtle scent of incense clung to his body, leaving a smoky and relaxing smell to any who wished to taste his skin or intertwine their body with his. A scent he paid dearly to retrieve from his homeland. Rarely would he rely purely on smooth words to get his way. The scent and clothing were only a piece of it. Ifiari let his actions do the talking, offering a gentle embrace to ensure all who pay for his time would be left shivering in the heat. Even as he would wield his jeweled duelling blade, Ifiari's soft touch was poignant, a butterfly of ecstasy brushed one’s neck to cut or caress. It was not a matter of seeking perfection, but pride in one’s work.

What little Ifiari recalled of his desert city home he held dear in his heart, though slowly it has turned more into a fantasy dream than a reality. He missed heat upon his unburning skin and the wishful wind playing with his hair as he ran through the streets. The cool nights calming his soul. His true home the lover he sincerely craved for, far across the ocean he once crossed and stared across now. It was neither pride nor wishful thinking that would bring him home. It was faith and fate that directed him. The seas were a party of the journey leading not to a final chapter, but a destination in his story.

Ifiari stood on the docks, the same he first stepped foot on as he left the boat to what would become his new home. As the dawn sun rose, the misty sea filled Ifiari’s nose again with memories of years of travel. He had been near the bay the entire night, wistfully dreaming about what could be and had been. He had spent two years at sea, traveling from city to city, his destination paid for but with no distinction of how long it would take. He could still feel the rocking of the boat, the water of a storm lashing over the sides as the ship as it was whipped about. He survived by holding onto the warm memory of home to comfort him as winters arrived. His heritage was not just of human blood, but the only parent he could remember well was his surrogate mother. Ifiari’s real mother passed him on to save him and all he knew was the woman who cared and provided for him. Her voice her could still hear tell the tales told of glorious warriors clad in silks and sabres, battling mystical creatures and tyrants alike. It was those stories he kept in his mind, the stories he aspired to.

But it was home that he desired most with blankets on the hard ground and a sharp smell of spice in the air. Ifiari had made the most for himself with a cushioned bed, fine juices, and food from all over the world. He revelled in sending clientel to heavenly pleasure in order to afford all his needs and wants. It was not that the wealth was not enough, but this life was not the stories his mother told him. He warred between having an easy life fulfilled compared to struggling comforts. One day he would learn to read, not just letters on a map, but the atlas to his final destination. A place he could die in as his mother’s stories foretold, sword in hand, silks blowing in the sandy wind, and the aroma of spice enveloping his spirit. One day, he would be brave enough. Until then, pride was enough and its blooming powers would carry him home.


End file.
